3 Years
by MamabearRoars
Summary: It's been 3 years since Sam died and Dean is working though his thoughts. Angst-y Dean, somewhat canon but AU, set after Season 9. (No MoC no / ) My first Supernatural fanfic. Trigger Warning - Hurt Suicide/etc. More chapters forthcoming, I've written a few ahead, but they need editing. I promise to upload/finish quickly and not leave you hanging for long! @mamabearcancer
1. The End

It had been three years since Sam Winchester had died.

Bitter, biting wind crept it's way under his worn leather jacket as he stood, one hand, wrapped around a cold glass, resting upon the freezing cold grave stone. Dean was glad that whiskey didn't freeze easily and was happy for the warmth it gave him as it slide easily down his throat. With his free hand he poured himself another glass, leaned his back into the icy stone marker and slide down to rest on the ground.

The sun was just rising, but it wasn't quite powerful enough to cut through the steely gray overcast sky. Yet there was still light to see. Dean watched the brown hills, slumbering now as winters cold grasp held them quiet, their gentle folds rolling, growing larger as they joined into the larger mountains in the distance. The tall evergreens, served as silent sentinels among the brown dead falls and what few amber leaves remained grasped onto their branches, rustling as the wind threatened to rip them down.

Dean sat, slowly drinking, thinking, remembering.

He missed his brother but he was glad he was gone now. Reaching over he caressed the stone. He chuckled at it's shape, a double heart. He couldn't believe Sam had gone along with it when Samantha suggested it years ago. But he was always more of a "chick flick" kinda dude than he ever was. Their plots had only sat empty for 11 years before Samantha was diagnosed with cancer. It just didn't seem fair.

Sammy met Samantha, ironic right? Sam and Samantha? He couldn't have made it up if he had tried. She was a nurse at a small rural hospital that they had limped into one night after a particularly, ridiculous, non-hunting related incident. A drunken bet, a rousing game of miniature golf later, Sam slipped and fell down into a "moat" surrounding a "castle."

Hilarious event, ass over appetite in he went, but unfortunately he earned himself a nasty gash up his calf as his leg caught on a bolt sticking out on the side of the blue lagoon.

"Bro, I'm so not stitching that up." Dean barely articulated as tears of laughter were still streaming down his face. "I'm way to tipsy and I'm liable to stitch my thumb to your leg or something."

Sitting, blood streaming down through his ripped pants leg. "Damnit Dean, these were my new jeans!"

More laughter ensued but Dean said on a more serious note "I don't think we should call Cass down for this."

"Nah, I agree, lets just drag my stupid ass up to the little hospital we passed on the way into town. Maybe you can find a cute nurse to flirt with while they patch me up real quick." Sam gave his brother a sly wink.

Dean was always the ladies man. Poor ol'Moose, too introverted, shy, hiding behind his dark long hair. But tonight was different, Samantha was different. From the first chuckle about how they had the same name, till the last stitch those two couldn't stop chatting with one another. She was beautiful, charming, outgoing, with long amber hair swept back into a ponytail. Her green eyes smiled down at Sam, as she finished wrapping up his leg. Dean might as well have been a shadow on the wall for all the attention she gave him.

Carefully she passed him a note, "Ok look, I never do this, ever. But you could call me sometime, if you're still in town that is."

Sam smiled from ear to ear "Yeah, I think I'll do that."

Unbelievably he did just that. The very next evening, Dean caught him sneaking around in the bathroom, hiding like a teenager, quietly talking to her on the phone. A big smile spread across Deans face. Finally, a real connection. He felt good about this, after all these years, the pain of Jess and the road, Sammy deserved this. 

The relentless wind, continued biting at his face as he shifted using the cold hard stone to his advantage as a makeshift wind break. 


	2. Cold Seat

Six months later Dean was standing in a jewelry store, nervously shuffling his feet around on the garishly patterned carpet.

"Dude, could you relax? You aren't even the one who's proposing! Just help me pick out this ring would ya?" Sam grinned. His goofy smile was infectious and Dean couldn't help but feel his heart swell up just a little bit for his little brother. Ever since he was but a little thing, his smile just lit up the room.

"These places make me nervous man, you might be ready to settle down but I'm sure not. Too many fishes, too much seed to sow, or something like that." Dean teased.

But really what Dean was thinking about was Lisa. He'd sworn to himself that after Lisa he was done. He didn't deserve a love like that then, nor ever again.

Sammy was different. No matter what he'd gone through, what they've experienced, Sammy was still "clean." Not dirty and broken like he was. Sam had the uncanny ability to just let stuff go, forgive and forget. Sam could sleep at night. He didn't wake up drenched in sweat, tangled up in a scratchy old motel sheet.

Sam caught him staring off into the distance and poked him "Hey, what about this one?" As he held up a delicate band with a simple solitary sapphire setting.

"Yeah Bro, I think that suits her. Yeah, that's the one." Dean smiled, masking the pain behind his eyes.

Whether Sam noticed the half assed distracted answer or not, he didn't ask him or try to cheer him up and happily went on purchasing the ring, taking more than usual and certainly more excited than usual to the grinning store keep.

* * *

><p>The ceremony was simple.<p>

A courthouse wedding, in a small town. The type of small town with only two lane streets and three stoplights. Total Mayberry-ville Dean thought to himself.

Samanthas parents, a few of Samanthas friends and Dean crowded behind Sammy and Samantha in the tiny Justice of the Peaces office. Samantha was wearing a simple white cotton dress, soft and light. Matched her personality perfectly. Sammy was wearing one of their better FBI suits and a bright green tie. Green that complemented the brides eyes and the bright spring leaves adorning the trees lining the street outside.

"I wish Bobby was here." Sam whispered to Dean right as the ceremony started.

At first it was difficult for Sam to lie to her about their family and their history but they both knew it was for the best. When she questioned them about their parents, they simply told her that they had died years ago, his mother when he was an infant and then his father later when they were adults of a heart attack. It was so mundane of a story, so "normal" no one questioned it.

Everything went perfectly. There were smiles and laughter it was a "story book" ceremony and it was nothing less than Sam deserved. Sam and Samantha couldn't keep their eyes off one another the entire event.

"Dean, are you sure? You sure I can do this?" Sam whispered as he pulled Dean aside while Samantha was over excitedly talking with her family.

"Sammy, I think it's a bit late to be backing out now." he chucked.

"No, you know what I mean, I know the apocalypse stuff is over and heaven is fixed but there are still monsters out there. You still need me." Sam, looked down at the ground. "I shouldn't have done this. We can still disappear together, go back on the road again. Just me, you and Cass."

Dean glared "Dude, seriously, this is the kinda cold feet stuff you have before you say your vows, not after! Sam, she's perfect. You deserve this. You know I ain't built for this settling down stuff. Go, be happy with her Sam. I'll be as close as a phone call and you know I still have Cass on speed dial if I get in trouble."

"Saaaaaaaaaaaammmmy!" a giggling voice called out. "Come back! You've had 35 years with your brother, can I have 35 with you now?" Samantha was smiling, she really was beautiful, body and soul.

Dean clapped his brother on his shoulder, pushing him ttowards her, laughing. "Get on over there Moose!"

* * *

><p>Dean drove the Impala "home" alone for the first time, in a long time, he realized it was over. It was finally over. The years of traveling with is brother. The seat beside him was empty and it wa going to stay empty, heaven and hell be damned. It felt different this time. All the times before when for one reason or another they had parted ways, it had felt temporary. This felt different, permanent, real. He ran his hand over the smooth cold seat...<p>

A familiar fluttering sound as the empty seat wasn't so empty anymore. Dean only flinched slightly, having become so used to the sound and complete randomness in which Castiel could show up.

"Hi Dean." Cass casually stated.

"Hi Cass. Taking a break from your heavenly responsibilities? You just damn near sat on my hand." Dean smiled.

"Sorry but yes, something like that. How are you holding up?" Cass asked softly.

Dean paused for a moment sighing, his hands tightened for a brief moment on the steering wheel and then relaxed. "He deserves this Cass."

"Yes he does." the angel noded, "But you deserve happiness too. You don't need to hunt anymore Dean. Let others pick up your burden. You've done so much for the world, let the world repay you back."

"Yes, done so much. I nearly destroyed the world Cass," his eyes narrowing, "I've been personally responsible for so many deaths. I've ruined so many lives." Deans foot grew heavier on the gas pedal as his frustration and anger grew. The tires of the Impala gripped the road tightly as the yellow line began to blur faster and faster.

"You know, we did some fucked up things Cass, but Sam always kept his innocence. He can settle down, live an apple pie life, but I can't. You know I can't. Not after all this. I can't forget a moment of it like Sam can. He's moved on Cass, He's forgiven himself…" his voice broke, " he's forgiven me... I can't forgive me, Cass, I can't. "

Castiel reached out his hand and put it on Deans shoulder. He wanted to say something to comfort Dean but sometimes silence is the best comfort.

"I understand." There was the familiar rustle and Castiel was gone.


	3. Paper Cut

As the months went on, Dean and Sam initially kept in close contact. Dean would swing by every other weekend, they'd watch the game, drink a few beers and for awhile, it was good. But as time passed Dean began to stop by less and less. He'd still call Sam, and Sam would ask why he wasn't coming by but Dean would make up some excuse about the Impala needing some work or maybe he was working a particularly difficult case. Sam knew he was not being entirely truthful and he should press Dean further but Samantha would always be in the corner of his eye smiling, drawing his attention away. Sam felt guilty about this often, every time in fact, but at the same time, you can lead a horse to water...

Dean loved his brother and knew he was finally settling into his american dream. He also knew well enough to leave him alone and purposely began to distance himself. He didn't want to intrude, be the 3rd wheel. The pathetic, sad, reminder of the hardships and loss they experienced their entire lives. This was Sammys legit chance at a normal life and he wasn't going to ruin it.

He couldn't bear to see the pain lingering there in his big brown eyes, over laughter and turkey dinners. The secret glances they'd give each other when Samantha would ask a question about their past. It was hurtful, too difficult to keep up the charade.

Eventually Dean would excuse himself, stretch, feign a yawn and head for the door. No sooner than he was halfway down the porch steps, Sam was already lost in Samanthas arms forgetting. Sam could let go of the past, the pain, the small white lies in her embrace.

Dean slid back into the smooth, cool seat of the Impala, alone, with little distraction besides his own thoughts and hit the road.

Weekends slid into months, months slid into years and Dean found himself more and more cut off from the world. Even Castiel stopped checking in on him as often as he once did.

His life was now measured in obscure news articles, dusty old motel rooms and the occasional flirtatious glance from a waitress here and there. Even those were growing more and more occasional. Guess you can't even count on your good looks forever he thought.

Dean wasn't really sure where he was going when he pulled out onto the old two lane highway that morning. The road, first paved, then poorly paved turned into gravel and the gravel then turned into dirt and then the dirt road turned into little more than a trail through the forgotten countryside.

Finding the Impala a safe parking spot before the trail became too rough, too scratchy, for his baby he got out and started out on foot. It felt good to be out of the car, stretching his legs after driving so long.

The evening air was cool, not too cold and even though the path was thick and overgrown he had little trouble navigating. Soon he found himself at the edge of a deep ravine. Pulling himself up onto a giant rock near the edge, he sat down, pulled out the knife digging at his hip inside his pocket and put it down beside him. Carefully, as not to place it too close to the edge, lest he somehow knocked it over the side.

The fading sun cast long shafts of golden light across the rocky depths. Below in the distance he could hear the subtle sound of water falling, flowing over rocks. Nothing majestic like Niagra or anything like that, but the appalachians still had a beauty unlike anything else.

Closing his eyes just for a moment, he leaned back taking it all in. He took in a deep breath, letting his lungs exhale slowly. How peaceful and calm it was, how easy would it be just to lay back on this cool rock and sleep. To forget for just a few moments, everything.

* * *

><p>"Aren't you cold Dean?" A familiar voice roused him. He must have fallen asleep and yes, he was cold and stiff. Very stiff. God, getting old sucked.<p>

"Yes Captain obvious." Dean smirked but then softened his face and smiled up at the angel sitting next to him. Even though he was sometime perturbed when his friend showed up out of the blue like this, he was actually glad for the familiar company most the time, if he was honest with himself.

Slowly and with more effort than in his twenties, Dean pulled himself up, forgetting he had set his knife out earlier, his hand knocked into the blade, sending it spinning wildly towards the edge. His hand shot out after it, quick as a snake, and as he grabbed it he nicked his thumb on the blade.

"Shit.." he hissed and stuck his thumb into his mouth.

Castiel watched him mildly amused, "I'll never understand why humans insist on sucking on their wounds like that."

Dean mumbled his thumb still in his mouth "Shut umph Cass, it heplfs stoph the stinging!"

Cass reached over and grabbed Deans arm, jerking his thumb out of his mouth. He ran his own thumb over the cut and Dean watched the wound vanish. Instantly the sting was gone and Cass gently released his hand back to him.

"Seriously Cass? But uh thanks." He smiled. Big wounds, small ones, he'd never get over how wonderful it was to have a "pocket angel" for moments like these.

"Dean, why are you out here? And why was your knife out?" Castiels piercing blue eyes pinned him down and forced him to answer.

Dean let out a long sigh, gazing off into the distance and paused before answering. "I just wanted some privacy from everything. It's so quiet and peaceful here, don't you think?

"I do." Castiel nodded, 'but that doesn't explain the knife."

"I wasn't going to do anything stupid, if that's what you think. I just took it out of my pocket for comfort. You know, incase anyone snuck up on me while I was resting."

Castiel tilted his head ever so slightly and quietly murmured "mmmhmmm."

"Really, I swear. I just wanted some quiet, away from the noise, the people, the hunt."

"And Sam?" Cass stated more than asked.

Dean looked down at his feet, as he shifted, a small pebble rolled out and over the rock bouncing quietly down the cliff to the bottom of the ravine below.

"Yes. And Sam. He doesn't need me anymore Cass. He's got Samantha and they have their own life now. I don't really fit in family picture anymore ya know? She's talking about putting bandaids on cute kids boo boos and I'm talking about staking windigos hearts. Not exactly dinner table appropriate conversation right?"

"You know that's not true and Sam needs you now. You know about Samantha right? He's been leaving you voice mails, why haven't you picked up?" Castiel looked more concerned than angry as his tone gently scolded Dean.

"Yes, I know about her. How could I not. I don't know what to say to him. It's not right Castiel. Can't you like do something?" Now it was Deans turn to be irritated. "Can't you go do your angel mojo on her or something while she's sleeping and just whisk the tumor away? You know, use those powers of yours on something important, instead of paper cuts." as he waved his thumb up in the air.

Castiel looked exasperated "You know I can't. Besides I asked Sam and he told me no, that she wouldn't want that."

"How could she not? Who the hell wants cancer Cass? How could Sam not want you to zap her?" Dean voice rose louder as he grew more frustrated.

"He told me that he's done with all this," gesturing to himself and heaven "and that he wanted, she wanted, whatever was going to happen, happen. I suppose, to let nature take course as you humans are fond of saying."

"Exactly!" Dean yelling now, "See? Hes done with me too Cass!"

They both sat in silence now, the sun had sat and Dean hadn't even noticed.


	4. Castiel Remains

Spring normally brings in new life, green life, good life. When you think of spring, you don't think of death.

Dean Winchester was thinking of death.

Parking the car as discretely as possible, Dean got out and quietly shut the door. Carefully, he made his way across the carefully cropped green grass. Stopping short, he leaned into a tree, partially to obscure himself, mostly just to rest his bones.

The lazy clouds drifting through the clear blue sky seemed insultingly serene and beautiful, Mocking the attendees considering the circumstances.

Watching the funeral from a safe distance, he was vaguely reminded of flock of crows as the people all dressed in black, solemnly gathered around the casket. Their shuffling and slight movements, glints of watches and jewelry in the sun shone like iridescent sparks of light amongst pitch dark feathers.

Like a certain angels feathers he absentmindedly thought ever so briefly.

Dean narrowed his eyes, off to the left, a particularly tall man stood, his head bowed. Sam had not changed much since the last time he saw him. HIs dark hair, was now flecked with gray, messily hung down his forehead like always. His fingers were nervously twisting a golden band, around and around, his shoulders hunched.

Defeated. He looked utterly defeated Dean thought to himself. This was so very, very unfair. Sam deserved a good life. This wasn't right. This was infuriating. Balling his hand up into a tight fist, he punched the rough bark of the tree as hard as he possibly could. Pieces of bark cracked, their dry pieces splitting apart and fell to the ground. Cursing under his breath he pulled his hand back, looking down at his now painful, bloody knuckles.

He took a deep, shaky breath, and for a brief moment, Dean thought of stepping forward, no running forward and joining his brother. To embrace him, but no, he couldn't do that. Not now. Why intrude further? Why fuck his life up even more?

He'd brought this pain down on his brother from that moment oh so long ago. That fateful night when he asked him to join him in the Impala. This singular event changed Sammys life forever, pushing and driving him to the deepest depths of despair. Just how much torment could one human soul take? Sure their lives weren't peaches and cream after their mother died, but Sam had broken free back then. He had broken away from their father and his endless quest for revenge. He had a chance, and Dean knew he took it from him. Dean was responsible for all for all of this. "ALL OF THIS!" his mind screamed silently.

Grimacing at himself, he balled his fists up so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palms.

"Dean." A soft rush of wind ruffled the short hairs on the back of his neck.

"Castiel." he answered without turning to look.

"It's not that you don't want to intrude. You just don't want to face Sam." the angel huffed disapprovingly.

Dean spun around, "Don't listen in on my thoughts Cass."

"I didn't have to. I know you too well." Castiel reached out his hand, gently putting it on Deans shoulder. "Go to him, "he paused adding, "Please." His penatrating blue eyes stared into his own so earnestly, so completely, it hurt.

Dean jerked his shoulder out from under Castiels hand, and headed back towards the Impala.

The concern and sadness on angels face was a deep and dark as a shadow.

Castiel remained.

Sam watched a man, who looked much like his brother, just older, walk off into the distance.


	5. Game Over

Finding the abandoned farm house wasn't hard.

Painting the ancient Enochian symbols wasn't hard.

Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, with the cold steel of his Colt 1911 rasping against his teeth was hard.

It had taken some time to draw out the symbols.

First he had taken his faithful knife from his soft worn, frayed jeans pocket. Palming the blade carefully he checked it's edge. It was razor sharp, just like it had to be. He hissed under his breath as the blade cut through the top few layers of his skin. Carefully he applied a little more pressure with the knife. He would not cut too deeply, not yet, he needed the blood for a working purpose. He could not afford to pass out now.

The pain of cutting his arm open, was little compared to the pain he'd feel if Castiel found him this way. Creating the symbols to block him, were necessary. You can't have an angel surprising you at a moment like this.

Carefully Dean opened up his flesh just enough to bleed freely. Plenty enough to complete the task. Certain Enochian symbols require human blood to work and he had to work quickly before Castiel guessed what was happening.

With practiced ease, he masterfully drew the symbols on the walls. Blood makes a good painting medium, it's wet and slippery, dries dark, readable. You can do a lot of things with blood in a pinch and Dean had been in many pinches. Angels to demons, it didn't matter, knowing your way around some blood symbols came in handy.

It actually disturbed him how second nature this had become for him; blocking out angels as well as demons. "That's so fucked up." he thought to himself as he completed the final strokes.

The night sky was unbelievably, clear, as Dean grabbed Sammys hand and urged him to run faster.

"Hurry up Sammy! We've gotta do this before Dad gets back!"

The thick grass of the overgrown field was tugging at Sams legs making it hard to keep up with his older brother. The plastic milk crate, stuffed with fireworks held tightly in his small hands was heavy but he was so excited, he managed to stay alongside him.

"Dean Dad would never let us do this if he were here!" He excitedly spoke, his dark eyes shining with the happiness and innocence as only a child can have.

Sam quickly sat the crate down on the grass and grabbed two roman candles, passing one to Dean, "Got your lighter?"

"Yeah bro, of course! How could I forget!" Dean fumbled through his pockets producing his Zippo.

"Light um'up!" Sammy exclaimed holding out the firework up towards his brothers hands.

Dean flicked the Zippo open and rolled his thumb over the flint wheel. The wheel liked to stick but his rough thumb had no problem spinning it and sparking a flame. Carefully he held the fire to both fuses as Sammy squealed with delight, "Hold them up! Hold them up!"

Sammy turned quickly and raised his arm up into the air. Dean followed and side by side, arms shaking excitedly, their candles burst into light as one by one, their brilliant charges shot out into the night sky.

A broad smile crossed Deans face as he took the gun out of his jacket pocket. He noted a small rip inside the silk lining and wondered how long it had been there. This particular jacket had been through everything with him. Like a good friend, supple and soft with a warm smell of ancient saddle soap. It fit him just so, every stitch, curve and rivet belonged to him.

Draped across his broad shoulders, typically wrapping him in comfort but not that night.

Chills rocked Dean.

Up and down his spine they raced, tingling him to his very core. His senses were heightened and alive like a crackling electrical storm brewing, churning, growing. Truth be told he felt more alive tonight than he had in years. The moon created slender fingers of light as it stole through the cracks in the wooden slats of the farm house. Dean could see it all through the dim illumination and dancing dust motes. The Enochian symbols were still glistening, his blood still wet. The thirsty old wood panels had yet to soak in all the moisture. Their dry grain, fought against taking in all of his blood and in some way that pleased him. It was twistedly beautiful. The decay of the ancient wood, his blood soaking in, the moonlight, the gun; pleased him.

He leaned back further into the rough wall, tipping his head back to rest upon the thick boards. A warped splinter mildly annoyed him and he brushed it away. Secure now, protected from anyone who might find him and interrupt him.

He could take his time.

Setting the colt down beside him on the old dirty floor, Dean reached into his jacket pocket again, this time his rough fingers produced a flask and two photographs. The flask was nothing special. Just simple and silver little banged up as one would expect and filled with his dark amber whiskey of choice. Uncapping it, he took a generous sip of courage, carefully put the cap back on, feeling it twist closed before setting it down beside the gun.

His left hand fondled the photographs carefully. One was very old and worn with yellow dog eared edges and that musty old strange chemical smell only vintage photographs seem to have. It was a sentimental smell that brought his mind back to a different time.

This is the one he looked at first. Holding it up he examined it closely. There was a small white house and a family standing in front of the porch. Flowers and a picket fence, the photo projected a late 1970s American dream. A youthful blonde mother stood, holding the hand of a young son, while another small boy perched on her hip smiling. Slightly behind her a dark haired handsome, proud looking father stood, his arm wrapped lovingly around her waist.

Deans eyes grew wet, betraying his typical stoic manhood. This was where it all started and only a few days after this photo was taken, where the dream ended.

He gently set the photo down, took another sip from the flask. The fiery warmth of the liquid slid

down deep inside him. Taking a deep breath, steadying himself, he held up the newer photograph. Digitally printed, this one only showed slight wear from being in his pocket for the past few years. A little faded by another young family stared back at him. The woman was in her mid thirties with long dark hair that gracefully framed her face. Beside her, smiling up at her, was a young boy who looked to be about ten years old.

Tears now began to flow down Deans face without pause. The photograph blurred as his hands trembled.

This was Deans second chance family.

The closest thing he ever would have to living a normal existence. Lisa, the pretty woman was also beautiful soul. Even from that brief encounter in the back of his Impala so many years ago, Dean knew she was something different than the usual hook up type girl he was akin to.

He was actually happy that night that she when called him about ten years later.

Dean didn't know what to expect but he accepted her offer to meet up again, then when he looked into the boys eyes, he knew. Those unmistakable green eyes looking back into his, were of his son.

The photograph now little more than a colorful blur in his eyes, slipped out of his hands onto his lap.

"Honest to God, I tried Lisa, I tried." Dean whispered.

And he did. He really did give it a try.

Sam was in the pit and Bobby was gone. Dean needed a family and Lisa provided one. As crazy as it sounds, those few months with her and Ben, mowing her lawn, watching a game, drinking a cold one, helping the boy with his homework, just doing those everyday things with her was magical. Just being there, with her and him, being the "normal" family was a dream come true. No more monsters, no more demons, no more angels….

Until, of course, came monsters, demons and angels again.

The night when Castiel came to him, promised him that LIsa and Ben would not remember, Dean wept. They would not remember Deans past catching up and hurting them, nor the good he brought them.

He met them at the hospital that night, his way to say goodbye. A last moment to make sure they were safe.

They would forget the blood, and the hurt but he would not.

Something broke in Dean.

Carefully picking the photo back up, he slid it, this photograph back into the inside pocket of his coat. The one closest to his heart.

Fingering the flask yet again, he took another long draw, draining it.

"It's time," he exhaled, and set the flask beside him.

Dean reached down and wrapped his fingers around the familiar pearl handle of his colt. There were a few times over the past few years he had considered this.

Opting out, exiting stage left, quitting.

Choosing to set down the heavy mantle placed on his shoulders.

But Sam had always been there for him. Sammy, his brother, his big goofy brother always there to back him up, to reach down and pull him from the depths.

Sammy had died a few times, heck even became Lucifer, but he always came back. He always came back to him, no matter what. "That's what brothers do, Sammy. They don't leave each other." he wept.

But Sammy wasn't coming back this time. He had chosen the easy path and followed Samantha.

"Fuck you Sammy." He spat. "She died dude. You two decided to let her die. Castiel could have healed her you ass! Why! Why Sammy? Why? You had your perfect life. For 4 years you and her had it all!"

"And Castiel! You bastard! Why!? Why did you let him do that? After all these years, after everything we've been through, how could you Cass? How could you?" Dean screamed, rage and tears twisting his face in grief.

"How could you let his Samantha die? How could you let my Sammy die?" more quietly now, whimpering.

"I… I can't do this anymore. I'm so fucking alone! Fuck!" he sobbed.

His fingers grasped the gun tighter as he brought it up to his mouth. His chin was quivering as he slid the cold barrel between his teeth. The hard metal was unforgiving and his tears tasted salty as they flowed into the edges of his lips, wetting his tongue.

He'd died before but he knew this time would be different.

He knew what came after but this time was it.

It was going to be final.

Game over.

He closed his eyes tightly, wincing, preparing himself for the inevitable loud pop and darkness that was sure to follow. HIs trembling finger closed around the trigger…

Instead of a loud bang Dean heard the familiar rustling sound of feathers...

"Did you really think those symbols would sever my bond with you Dean?" A rugged voice asked him softly before two gentle fingers reached out and touched Deans forehead.

Everything went black.


	6. Empty Glass

Soft. Everything was soft and pillowy. If he didn't know any better, he thought to himself that he was in some looney toons version of heaven. The type of heaven where everyone floats around on fluffy white clouds singing hymns and strumming on harp strings all day.

But it was quiet. There was only the sound of his own breathing and heartbeat.

Breathing, heartbeat… "Shit." Dean spoke aloud and opened his eyes.

He was in a hotel room that looked like it had not been updated since about 1972. Wallpaper clung to the walls creating a lively pattern of orange and brown paisley swirls. The carpet was a lovely shag in a shade of burnt orange. He breathed in. An odor of stale beer permeated the bedspread that covered his body. It bore the pattern of mushrooms and brown florals with the addition of a hunched over man in a tan trenchcoat sitting on it's edge. Castiels back was to Dean but he could see that his angelic friend was concerned. Judging by his posture alone, the way he was drawn up into himself, his hands cupping his face, Dean knew he fucked up.

"Cass" he rasped. HIs throat so dry, the name sounded like dust as it left his lips.

The angel just held up a solitary finger. A message to pause, to hush.

Then Dean knew that he _really_ fucked up.

Slowly Castiel turned around and faced him. His electric blue eyes were wet with tears. His expression of grief was devastating.

Deans heart dropped and a wave of guilt washed over him.

"What exactly were you thinking Dean?" Castiel asked.

Dean started to answer "I…" but the angel silenced him again.

Castiel moved closer, "Did you really think those wards would keep me away? That I couldn't feel your pain? Seriously Dean," he exhaled sharply.

"Cass," he croaked, tears welling up in his own eyes. HIs heart was pounding and he felt sick at his stomach. A vast putrid green sea was churning in his gut. Guilt.

"Cass I… I just wanted to stop. Just to stop, nothing more. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm tired Cass." he spoke as he turned his head away.

Castiel reached out his hand and turned Deans face towards him.

"Yes, your journey has been long, but it's not up to you to choose when your time is up."

Dean felt so small under Castiels piercing gaze.

"I miss my brother Cass." he whispered.

Castiels face softened. His voice kinder, "I know."

Standing by the gravestone he found it hard to believe that three years had passed since that dark evening in the farmhouse. Three years since Castiel plopped him down in that motel room like a petulant child.

Years passed in slow succession but Dean always came to visit Sam on the anniversary of his death. Every year that passed, it seemed to him that he was losing more and more of his brother. The great wheel of time would take tiny bits and pieces from him so slowly that the memories lost were barely perceptible. Secretly he was glad for it. Glad that Sammy was at peace and likely was enjoying some quality time with Samantha, Bobby, Joe, Ellen, John, Mary…

He furrowed his brow as he accounted for that list.

Oh how the list of names had grown over the years.

Absentmindedly he messaged his left arm. The cold was getting to him. Pouring himself another glass of whiskey, he sat down, putting his back against the gravestone. The sun was a little higher now in the sky and it's warmth was a blessing. Dean took a deep drink out of the glass, draining it down thoroughly.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth from within and without.

Moments passed.

He blinked opening his eyes to the familiar sound of rustling feathers. Castiel joined him, sitting down beside him. Damn, he was practically glowing.

"Turn down the light Rudolph, you're burning my eyes." Dean complained stretching and rubbing his sore eyes.

"Hey Dean." he spoke, titling his head awkwardly like a pug dog. That cute expression Castiel would always get when he'd said something that confused him never ceased to amuse him.

He contemplated explaining Santa Claus and his reindeer to him when an unexpected voice chimed in. A voice he had not heard in a long time.

This voice made his entire being quiver.

It couldn't be.

"Hey brother," Sam started, "Long time no see."

Dean spun around to look behind him. He must be dreaming, there was his big ol'goofy moose of a brother standing above ground, right there with them.

"Dude! Castiel! Did he bring you back or am I dreaming? What took ya so long bitch!?" Deans eyes lit up like a childs on Christmas morning. His younger brother was standing right there in front of him. He could even smell the cheap body spray he'd wear on occasion. Dean wrinkled up his freckle specked nose and grinned wide like a Chesire cat.

"Uh well, not exactly. Jerk." Sam answered smiling and running his fingers through his hair. Classic nervous habit of his. Something was up.

Castiel looked a little sheepish at this point. In fact if he didn't know better, Dean thought that his friend looked nervous about something.

"Dean," he paused taking a gulping breath, "I don't know how to tell you this." Cass spoke stumbling over the words.

"Tell me what?" Dean asked, as he stood up.

Then he realized why Castiel was being so evasive and Sammy was being so mysterious. Dean was looking down at his own body, still sitting, leaning against the gravestone.

His eyes were still closed with a little bit of frost frozen on his wet eyelashes. His mouth was slightly open and his arms were relaxed down by his sides. Tipped over, forgotten, near his right hand, was his whiskey glass. Empty now, all of it's warmth grown cold as the ground it laid upon.

It was peaceful.

"Uh guys, I'm dead?" He asked. More a formality rather than actual question. Of course he was dead. But it seemed like the rational question to ask in a situation like this.

Sammy and Castiel looked at each other and back to him.

Before they could answer, Dean jumped forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his brother. Tears poured down without hesitation. Their mantle had finally be cast aside. He could finally breath again, live again. He had been dead for so long.

Castiel smiled, reached over and placed his hand on Dean's back.

And with that, they vanished.


End file.
